


RTFM

by Fionnabair



Series: The TARDIS is a shipper [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Crack, Evil Overlord's Handbook, M/M, Mpreg, The TARDIS is a shipper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionnabair/pseuds/Fionnabair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master learns the wisdom of always reading the manual. Especially when the TARDIS is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	RTFM

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Spoilers up to and including The Last of the Time Lords. Pure crack. Based on things screamed at the TV when watching TLOTTL, [this](http://fiandyfic.livejournal.com/12998.html) and, of course, [this.](http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html) Beta’d as usual by m31andy.  
> DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who is copyright BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

There were better ways for the formerly most powerful man in the universe to wake up.  
  
A cup of tea, perhaps. A minion arriving to let you know the success of your latest ploy. A long, slim, red-nailed hand running down your body as your impossibly gorgeous and slightly mad current consort decided that she liked you waking up with a smile on your face and put it there.  
  
It wasn’t the handcuffs he objected to. Lucy, after all, could do things with handcuffs and his laser screwdriver that would make him wipe out an entire country from sheer pleasure. Andorra had been a good one, he remembered. Especially the bit where they had to find it first.   
  
It wasn’t that he was naked. Absolute power meant never having to reach for a dressing gown when the staff walked in.   
  
No, it was definitely because his nemesis was leaning against a wall, grinning at him.  
  
“You know,” said the Doctor conversationally. “This body’s a definite improvement on the last one.”  
  
His grin grew wider as the Master glared at him.  
  
“And what, exactly, am I doing here?” he asked in a steely tone. “I was rather under the impression that I had died.”  
  
“Died? From that? No,” replied the Doctor. “Pretty girl, your wife – I’ve always had a soft spot for blondes ever since Romana regenerated – but she was a  _useless_  shot. No, no, you just fainted.”  
  
“Fainted?” hissed the Master. “I. Do. Not. Faint.”  
  
“Well, you did. So I popped you inside the TARDIS, told everyone you’d died and faked a funeral. It’s useful knowing medical students. They  _always_  know how to get hold of a spare corpse.”  
  
“And then you handcuffed me naked to a bed?”  
  
“Actually, I didn’t. Apart from the naked bit. Martha said we needed your clothes for dressing the corpse. She was quite insistent, but don’t worry, your virtue’s intact.”  
  
“So the handcuffs are Ms Jones’s doing?”  
  
“No, no, Martha’s not here now. No, that was the TARDIS’s doing. She appears to have developed a kinky side. Something to do with two and a half years’ abuse, apparently. And no cable or satellite subscription.”  
  
“WHAT?”  
  
“The poor girl was so bored that she was reduced to watching TV. And downloading the entire internet. Apparently it gave her ideas and she designed this room in tribute to her favourite show.”  
  
The Master swivelled his head frantically. He appeared to be in a small room decorated in a mind-altering set of clashing patterns. Brown predominated, with a side order of brown.   
  
“It’s hideous,” he said. “Your ship has no taste.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Doctor. “It’s got a certain charm.”  
  
The Master just gaped at the Doctor, who had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.  
  
“So, are you going to release me, or are you just leaving me here?” asked the Master.   
  
“I can’t do anything at the moment. You’re on the TARDIS’s time frame here. She says she’ll let you go before you lose all the circulation in your arms. She added something about how it’s your turn to feel what it’s like to have your body twisted in weird ways.”  
  
“And you’re just going to stand there, are you?”  
  
In response, the Doctor produced a familiar-looking book.   
  
“I brought some reading with me, just to pass the time,” he said.   
  
“Is that what I think it is?” asked the Master. His arms were beginning to ache.  
  
“Yes,” said the Doctor. “Fascinating. A psychic paper variant, I assume. Your own copy of  _The Evil Overlord’s Handbook_ , self-updating and annotating. It’s a shame you didn’t follow it all.”  
  
The Master shrugged, not an easy thing to do when handcuffed to a bed. “I got a bit excited.”  
  
“You know, there’s some good advice in here,” mused the Doctor. “It’s clearly well worth reading. And it’s methodical. I see number 91 already has ‘no matter how much I like a ticky clock’ scribbled in the margin.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” snapped the Master. “I suggest you read number 40 before you continue.”  
  
The Doctor flipped back a couple of pages.   
  
“Oh. I’m not going to kill you. Was I gloating? It’s rather bad form. Sorry if I was gloating, I really didn’t mean to. Well, not a huge amount.”  
  
“No, you just have me in a humiliating position for a nice chat,” sneered the Master.   
  
“Sorry about that,” said the Doctor, not sounding at all sorry. “I wasn’t joking when I said the TARDIS was running this. I can’t actually free you, she says she’ll do it in a while. Although she’s making some very curious noises and I could have sworn I heard a mutter of ‘I’m blogging this’. Still, if it cheers the old girl up after all the things you did to her, it’s only fair.”  
  
The Master rolled his eyes. He might be handcuffed naked to a bed but he could still manage a sardonic eye roll.   
  
“I see you took the advice of 216,” added the Doctor. “Good thing too. You look much better this way.”  
  
“I  _liked_  the goatee.”  
  
“So why didn’t you regrow it?”  
  
“Lucy didn’t like beards,” muttered the Master.  
  
“Funny, that. I thought she was one. Didn’t fancy the competition, did she?”  
  
“Hah bloody hah. I’ll have you know that I had a very successful marriage.”  
  
“Yeah, so successful she shot you. Didn’t you read 113?”  
  
The Master responded with a dignified silence. As dignified as he could manage in his current position.  
  
The Doctor grinned and flipped through some more pages. “I see you followed 84 to 86, but didn’t 87 occur to you as well?”  
  
“You’re a sodding Time Lord. You know it’s not possible. Anyway, did you follow 95 or are you about to explode? I know you never pay attention to 97 as you so amply demonstrated a couple of days ago.”  
  
The Doctor laughed. “Are you telling me you wrote a user’s manual for the laser screwdriver? It was very thoughtless of you not to leave it lying around. But you’re just as bad. If only you’d read the TARDIS’s manual, you mightn’t be in this mess now. Even _TARDISes for Dummies_  mentions it on page 546 in the section beginning ‘Paradox Machines And Why They Are A Bad Idea’.”  
  
He turned back to the book. “I am impressed, though,” he said. “You do seem to have followed most of the rules in this one quite well. You’ve clearly been learning from past mistakes.”  
  
“Are you going to read the whole thing?” demanded the Master.  
  
“Probably,” agreed the Doctor. “I’m definitely deferring the evil moment.”  
  
“What evil moment?  _Don’t_  read number 48,” the Master added hastily.  
  
The Doctor promptly flipped back a couple of pages.   
  
“48? Oh, that’s no worry. I’m not evil, after all. I’ve got no problem telling you.”  
  
“And?” came the prompt.  
  
The Doctor looked slightly shifty.   
  
“The problem is…” he scratched his head. “The problem is… Look, can I just get you my copy of  _TARDISes for Dummies_  so that you can read it for yourself?”  
  
“NO!” yelled the Master. “What’s the bloody problem? Are you  _blushing_?”  
  
“The problem is that the TARDIS downloaded the entire internet. And, well, humans are very inventive. And she’s a time machine, not a person, and she can’t tell the difference between reality and fiction. She thought that TV show was a documentary about time travel, for example.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“She’s also a big conservationist. Quite fancies David Attenborough too.”  
  
“And?” The Master was practically bouncing off the bed now.   
  
“Well, she’s been reading about endangered species…”  
  
The Master froze, all the colour draining from his face.   
  
“No,” he breathed.  
  
The Doctor was looking at the floor and scuffing his shoes.   
  
“The words ‘last breeding pair in captivity’ were used and apparently there’s this thing called ‘fanfiction’ that has a sub-category called ‘slash’ and that has a sub-category called…”  
  
“DON’T SAY IT!” yelled the Master. “What did that  _BITCH_  do to me?”  
  
“She says it’s a simple modification and the babies will be lovely. She’s designing a nursery already.”  
  
“No! I absolutely refuse.”  
  
“195,” said the Doctor ominously. “The TARDIS says it’s called UST and we’ve got it. Between you and me, I think she’s getting broody.”  
  
“NO!” yelled the Master.  
  
The Doctor sat down on the side of the bed.  
  
“Oh yes,” he said gently.  
  
“GET YOUR HAND OFF MY THIGH!”  
  
“Master,” whispered the Doctor, and leaned in. “You  _like_  it when I use your name, don’t you?”  
  
“It’s not fair!”  
  
“Just lie back and think of Gallifrey,” suggested the Doctor, his face only an inch above the Master’s. A certain part of the Master’s anatomy indicated it wasn’t objecting too much to the idea.   
  
As the Doctor leaned in and snogged the protesting, but not too much, Master, the Handbook quietly updated again.   
  
 _113a. If I have an elaborate plan with my beautiful consort that involves her shooting me to ensure that I can return, unbeknownst to my enemies, I will first insist that she takes marksmanship lessons._


End file.
